My Master's Eyes
by Scarlet Willows
Summary: Sephiroth x Cloud and harem/slaves. This story is a medieval AU and contains Yaoi/Slash, Lemon, MPREG, Strong Language, Dark Themes, and OOCness. Summary inside.
1. Chapter 1

**Story Summary**: Sephiroth, the mysterious and powerful reptilian king of Midgar, has conquered the minds of men, the lands of Gaia, and even the shadows of Death for over five centuries. But his only true mission is to fulfill his goddess-mother's wish – for him to find his destined mate, the last of an ancient race blessed with Jenova's gifts. His wealth, his harem, his kingdom mean nothing in comparison to his ambition to find his heart's desire. After many ages of searching, will his life's obsession come to fruition in the form of a young slave? How will this bode for the kingdom on the verge of war? Will Sephiroth, an emotionless tyrant, be able to change with a mere slave's gentle guidance?

**Pairings**: Sephiroth/Cloud, and a surplus of other non-major _harem_-themed pairings involving Zack, Vincent, Reno, and Tseng.

**Warning**: This story is a medieval harem AU and contains Yaoi/Slash, Lemon/Hentai (some semi-non-consensual and adult x minor situations), MPREG, Strong Language, and OOC-ness.

If you don't understand what these words mean or are uncomfortable with homosexual themes, then you should not be reading this story. _I will not be blamed for your ignorance or prejudice_. Flamers will be dealt with by Sephiroth.

This story is not beta-read; therefore any spelling or grammatical errors are solely my fault.

**Disclaimer**: Final Fantasy VII© is the property of _Square Soft/Square Enix_. Other characters and plot independent of _Square Soft/Square Enix's_ original creation are my property. I, S.W., in no way make any profit from this story. Do not take/use any material from this story without my express permission.

**Dedication**: "To those who loved this world and knew friendly company therein…"

–Advent Children

_**My Master's Eyes**_

_**By Scarlet Willows**_

_**Chapter One**_

If life had taught me one thing, it was that it could have been _far_ worse.

At the very least, I was not forced to sleep on the hard, dirty stone floor, therefore I didn't have to look forward to neck aches and back pains the following morning. Instead, it was a somewhat mixed blessing that I was given a straw-filled mat that, though it poked me in odd places and had definitely seen better days, was much more forgiving than the floor.

If the straw mat was slightly itchy, it was nothing compared to the drab uniform robe that I'd had the misfortune of donning. My only consolation was the fact that it was free of lice and fleas and it was heavy enough to keep me fairly warm against the harsh Nibelheim climate that wound its way under the drafty doorways and through the rafters. An attendant gave me a clean uniform at the end of the week, the soiled uniform was to be laundered and cycled back to me the following week.

Thankfully I had a chamber pot, which was taken to be emptied once a day (I didn't relish the attendant's job), which meant that there was, unfortunately a smell to contend with, however it was nothing compared to the rumored horror of group latrines, basically benches with holes, that held a substantial lack of privacy.

Even the food, if it could be called that, wasn't something to readily scoff at. While it was a mysterious bland bowl of glop that I forced myself to gag down, at least it was a meal that I could guarantee being pushed through the rectangular slot in the bottom of the door three times a day.

A wash basin was passed through my food slot every other evening…the water might not have been as fresh (as several individuals before me had made use of it) and it was accompanied by a disfigured bar of lye that was somewhat ruthless on the skin, but it was adequate for the task and kept my mind from focusing on other places the soap had been. It was a lesser evil when weighed against group baths. I'd heard stories that other male slaves would, to put it kindly, take advantage of…someone of my build and stature in the common wash rooms. Sometimes even the guards (that were there to _prevent_ something of this carnal nature) would join in. I didn't want to imagine what the women had to endure. It was probably because of this abuse of the bathing system that the slave traders prohibited group bathing and instituted the basins in order to guarantee the purity of the slaves to boost sale prices. I didn't care what the traders' reasons were, after hearing these rumors, I was thankful for it and more than happy to dutifully tolerate used water and dry skin in order to spare my own virtue. At least I was cleaner than most.

I'd heard a lot of other slave houses couldn't boast about the aforementioned…luxuries.

So I counted my small blessings and considered myself one of the luckier ones. A surplus of other slaves around the world didn't have life half as nice as I did. Like I said, it could have been worse.

The cage cells were small, I only had to stretch my arms to touch either side, but I could stand comfortably. It's a mixed blessing that I'm short and petite for my age. The cells were lined against the walls, packed together on either end of the corridor so they outlined an aisle in the center. There were several "showcase rooms" like this one, lined with cells that formed a walkway in between, so there was no telling how many poor souls this slave house held. Three walls of shoddy scrap wood made up my cubicle, the fourth and front being a metal door with a heavy lock and a long, inset barred "window" that looked out onto the corridor so traders, attendants, and patrons could pass by and easily canvas the "selected wares".

I think there must have been some type of organization as to where we were placed to make selection easier for customers. I'd even seen a catalog of slave profiles when I'd first entered this place; after I'd been examined by a healer (standard procedure), they'd asked me questions while a scribe recorded information about my appearance, health, age, even my education level, sexual experiences (or, in my case, lack of), likes, dislikes, skills, abilities and such, writing it all neatly down onto a single sheaf of parchment that was to be filed away into the thick tome that was the main directory. Maybe they put all the blondes along one wall, all the females in that room, or all the pretty or exotic ones on this side...something like that. Maybe they ordered us by age, gender, hair, skin, or eye color, by race and culture, or by rarity. I didn't know the system they followed, but it was all cataloged and it was something to think about; it kept my mind occupied.

Indeed, it was a struggle to keep myself entertained in my cramped cell with only the wooden beams to stare at from my mat. I didn't have much interest in conversing with my neighbors on either side or across the way, but I didn't mind listening to their gossip and rumors, I had nothing better to do and it kept things in perspective for me. Many had come from other slave houses or been resold from abusive masters, others told of scandal from Kalm and how the slaves were trained to enjoy pain. It was stories like these that kept me optimistic and made me grateful to be in this particular slave house, for while it was not a palatial resort, the traders were not _overtly_ cruel. So I was content to listen and learn; besides, I decided it would be better for me not to get emotionally attached to anyone in this place…it was only a matter of time before they were sold to a master and off to a new life. So no one talked to me, and thankfully no one improperly touched me or hit me…that would have been bad for business, according to the traders.

If I didn't talk to anyone, then there wasn't much left to do. To say that the majority of the day was spent in boredom would have been an understatement. To pass the time I counted the lines in the wood and the dents in the stone sometimes. I even took to sharing a miniscule portion of my food with the little brown field-mouse that scurried good-naturedly into my cell in the afternoons, blinking big cocoa eyes at me. I pondered that she had a few other mouths to feed while she let me scratch behind her round, perky ears as she visited and munched on my leftovers, cleaning her whiskers afterwards. If only I could come and go as easily as she. Most days I imagined that I was her.

I spent most nights fighting off the cold while, in my dreams, I battled a darkness that held green snake-like eyes. I'd had the dreams ever since I could remember, so it was not such a sudden occurrence, but the terrifyingly beautiful eyes of the enigma-predator continued to haunt me, violating me in the most private of ways and I'd wake up suddenly in a cold fear-inspired sweat, heart throbbing within my chest as if I'd been running. Perhaps I _was_ running, running from the man with the viper's eyes. Sometimes it wasn't so bad…sometimes I'd remember his voice, even though it was muffled and shielded in the dream; it was a feeling instead of a sound, his voice that is, and, like an instinct, I knew it was as deep as the ocean and the words he whispered in my ear were as soft as the sky even though I could not recall them in the waking realm. It was on those nights that his eyes were gentle and I woke unhurriedly, drifting smoothly into consciousness and…I couldn't help the craving I felt. Craving for what, I did not know, but I could feel it in my gut, driving the fear away and replacing it with intrigue.

But beyond my boredom and dreams, nothing of note took place. Really, the dreams were a relief if anything from the dullness and _that_ was saying something! The only stirring thing that happened was when a patron came to purchase a slave, money jingling in their pockets while the traders fought not to lick their greedy lips. Those days were both exciting and dreadful. The slave house wasn't the best place in the world, but it was safe and our needs were taken care of. A future master was always a wild card…one wasn't guaranteed kind treatment, three meals a day, shelter, or protection. The slave house was familiar, the slave house was secure.

The meager slave house of Nibelheim wasn't as specialized as some of the higher class houses of Junon or Costa del Sol, but I supposed we had a fair enough selection. Of course it fell to reason that the pretty ones never stayed long. They were usually classified as the pleasure slaves, the concubines, and had a significantly higher price. The less-than-attractive ones were usually bought by farmers for labor…we called them plodders or drudges. There was a petty, yet humorous argument amongst the slaves as to which "job title" was worse; the plodders who felt the sweat of their backs from their works, plowing in the fields…or the concubines, who _lie_ on their backs and felt the sweat of _another_ as they're…_plowed_. I couldn't help but feel sorrier for the concubines; more often than not they were sold to Nibelheim nobles who were…more on the plump side. It seems the richer one is, the more one can afford to eat.

I thanked Gaia that my section didn't receive a lot of traffic. While I knew I wasn't disgusting to look at, I felt I wasn't outrageously gorgeous either, which may or may not have been the reason why I had not been sold (not that I was complaining). Or, I could just chalk it up to my…curious circumstances. My saving grace, I reasoned, was that customers probably didn't have the pallet for my…shall I say, unusual flavor. I could count the patrons that had peered into my "window" on one hand. All three experiences had been terrifying in their own right, sitting under the heavy gaze of a stranger as he criticized my being, debating if I was worth one hundred gold coins. _That's all my life amounts to_, I'd realized with a bitter thought, _a measly one hundred pieces of metal_. At least the price had been high enough that they'd decided against buying me. On the whole, I tried not to attract attention and so far my strategy had worked quite efficiently. However, it seemed that luck was not on my side today.

……

"Don' get many foreigners in these parts. But wha' can I do fer ye, Sir? Can I int'rest ye in a plate o' fruit an' bread, or perhaps a drink?" the trader asked in his uncultured and heavily accented drawl, eyeing the good-looking newcomer's strange, but obviously expensive, garb. He could probably sell a slave for twice the amount to this fine foreigner and the man wouldn't be the wiser. It's not like he'd miss the money anyways.

"I'd like to have a look at your merchandise straight away, if it's not too much trouble," smiled the nobleman charmingly, moving further into the foyer and shaking off the cold, brushing the snow from his blonde locks, and handing his cloak to an attendant.

"Yes, o' course," the trader bowed, attempting to brownnose as he flashed a yellowing grin that lacked two front teeth. "Righ' this way, Sir. I am Jondab, the proprietor of this fine establishment," he announced with a heavy dose of swagger, obviously proud that he'd been able to work the words "proprietor" and "establishment" into the conversation. "If qual'ty be what ye're lookin' fer, ye've come to the righ' place! I can guarantee tha' ye'll find no finer slave house for a hundred miles with as wide of an assortment as ours! We've a healer on staff an' all the slaves are checked often for sicknesses. They get regular baths, so's we don' have no skin critters. We have workers, fighters, an' breeders, virgins an' pleasurers, we even have some from Wutai and Gongaga. Of course, if yer tastes are a little more…out of the ordinary, I could point ye in tha' direction as well. Would ye care t' browse our catalog?" Jondab asked, stopping near the entrance to the interior seating room where a few patrons lounged on fairly plush, if not slightly worn, divans, drinking ale and listening to a slave play the lyre as they leafed through several smaller, more specialized catalogs. The trader leaned against a wooden stand that supported a very heavy volume, which the foreigner assumed was the primary catalog that Jondab had mentioned. For being a slave house in some small, backwater town, they were fairly well organized and the foreigner had to smile, though it was clandestinely derisive.

"What I'm looking for is quite rare," the foreigner indicated quietly, skeptical that this second-rate slave trader would even have inkling as to what he was looking for, but it couldn't hurt to try. Jondab nodded understandingly though, his interest piqued, leaning closer as if the foreigner was sharing some sort of secret. "I wonder if you could tell me, master Jondab…" the term was something forced, but the foreigner was trying to be polite. He looked furtively around the room for eavesdroppers for dramatic effect. "Would you happen to have any males blessed with…Jenova's gifts?" Jondab looked a little confused, so the foreigner, fighting back a sigh, substituted the slang term and watched as understanding filled the trader's eyes, "Er, any male breeders?"

"Ah! Now tha' narrows it down a bit. Yer in luck! Our slave house has a higher collection of male breeders than even Junon!" A claim which the foreigner highly doubted. "Currently, we have five, however, two are reserved. Why, we had a fresh new addition come in not jus' two months ago! A native of Nibelheim even. Would ye like t' take a look?"

"Yes, thank you," the nobleman nodded his head to Jondab and prepared to follow the trader down the torch-lit corridor off to the right.

**To be continued…**


	2. Chapter 2

**Recap**: The prisoner recounted the details of the slave house before a mysterious patron arrived.

**Dedication**: To IA1979 and KHfujoshigirl98 for your special reviews!

_**My Master's Eyes**_

_**By Scarlet Willows**_

_**Chapter Two**_

It was dark in the throne room with the heavy, deep black-green tapestries perpetually blocking out the sun. It was always cold, too, with the gray stone walls and brick floors, even though the mammoth stone hearth at the far wall held a roaring fire – an inferno that had no hope as it struggled to emit enough heat to ward off the anomalous chill from the hearts of those within its vicinity. The orange flames, for all their good intentions, would soon give into despair and burn out. Bearskin rugs were placed throughout the room and helped soften the echo of footfalls, but they did little to help with the chill. Paintings clad the walls, sinister portraits of forefathers long dead whose eyes seemed to follow a passerby, illuminated (and made all the more disturbing) by iron sconces – pieces of twisting black metal that held the harsh yellow light of candles as the wax teetered dangerously on the edge and threatened to drip. But for all the candles' worth, they did little to light the room entirely, so it remained forever shadowed and unfriendly.

So within this accepted darkness and coldness there lay another kind of darkness altogether. An evil kind. And it wore the face of an angel and spoke with a demon's suave voice, snaking through the darkness in an alluring baritone lull.

"Kill him, his whines are starting to bore me," decreed the dark angel without pity, pushing a ridiculously long lock of shiny silver hair behind his ear and studying his demon claw-like fingernails as if a man wasn't going to die in two seconds. The whole room was still, waiting with baited breath as the angelic demon pursed his lush lips in irritation, his ethereal and sharp visage (seemingly chiseled from the smoothest and palest of marble) upset at the turn of events.

Two guards, who had been silent shadows by the doorway, sprung to life with drawn swords, approaching the doomed man in the center of the room, meaning to carry out the king's orders like the puppets that they'd been groomed to be. The king sat calmly upon his emerald-cushioned throne, his corded thighs spread in comfort, his imposing stature and presence permeating the room more thoroughly than the darkness.

"But my lord, King Sephiroth! I have served you faithfully for years! Do not believe the lies of this peasant bitch!" The man shrieked, dropping to his knees, his deep purple and magenta robes fanning about him as he crawled towards the hoary throne, intent on kissing the king's feet in contrition. One groomed metallic eyebrow quirked in mockery, one soul-piercing and acid-green optical narrowed in dangerous animosity.

"'_The truth you have not told, to secure the king's gold._' These words seem to eerily reverberate in my mind, Hojo. I have no room in my circle-of-trust for liars, surely you of all people can understand that," the king half-smiled, as if this were a friendly game of cards. He turned his slitted poison-lime eyes lazily onto the man graveling near his feet while looking all the part of a snake about to strike, and the half-smile that he had sported earlier turned into a full-blown grin, showing perfect straight, white teeth and slightly pointed canines. The man made another attempt to debase himself at the foot of the angelic viper's throne, cowering as a dog with its tail between its legs. "If the air from your deceitful mouth so much as breathes on my boot, seer, I'll cut off your lips and make you eat them before you expire. If you really love life as much as you act like you do, then you would not have lied to me." His words were quiet, but they carried ominously throughout the room. He then turned a pointed feline eye to the guards and nodded his head.

Without having to say a word, the guards knew what to do as they descended upon the oracle. "B-but, King Sephiroth, my liege, I-", the sentence was cut off as blood filled the man's mouth and dribbled down his chin to stain his expensive mystic's robes. The false oracle fell to the right in a heap as the guards removed their swords from his body, wiping off their blades with a piece of cloth and returning to the shadows like good pawns. Servants in light gray garb filed in quickly and quietly to dispose of the body and clean the gore from the floor.

"Drain him of his blood and bring it to me in a chalice," Sephiroth ordered while the servants tidied in a flurry; they were done in a matter of seconds with downcast fearful eyes, as was due their station.

"Can you really trust the words of the blind girl, brother?" asked a young man, no less of a beautiful fiend, who had been sitting at Sephiroth's side. The youth's pouty pink lips did nothing to ease the effect his snake-like eyes had, though they were nothing compared to Sephiroth's. His shoulder-length hair was also silver, but a lighter shade and considerably shorter than the king's. There was no mistaking the familial relation.

"I have lived centuries, Kadaj, and that seer has been in my services for a long time," drawled Sephiroth in lazy boredom. "I have seen him lie to other dignitaries at my command, I have seen him bring false hope to farmers praying for more rain, I have seen him misinform to further his own schemes…I have no doubt he would lie to me about my mate. It was simply time to purge the ranks. As you get older you will realize the necessity for this, Kadaj. He was just a man, not some awe-inspiring messenger of the gods…do not put your trust in Men. Their lives are short and they are greedy and petty. You will learn how to read these mortals soon enough," he said smoothly, turning that languid artificial grin upon his youngest half-brother. "Come, Kadaj. Let us pay respects to our Mother." Sephiroth gracefully stood, presenting the unhindered sleek line of his powerfully muscled body.

"I'm sure our goddess-mother, Jenova, will be pleased with your blood offering, my liege."

"Indeed."

The hallway leading to the underground chambers and dungeons was musty, orange light from the wall-torches glowed and flickered against slightly warm stone, and their smoke scorched the ceilings black. Sephiroth's boots echoed steadily along the passage, like deep heartbeats in the cobblestones. The king and his young brother came to a heavy inexpressive mahogany door that led to a gilded shrine to the fallen gods.

The door opened even before Sephiroth touched it and he and Kadaj entered. The walls were a Lifestream-green with convoluted gold designs painted around the border, symbols that belonged to times long past. Pillars lined the walls with translucent silver and gold curtains cascading down their sides and sconces protruding from their marble. At the far wall was a dais with a gold altar, candles flanked its corners, and above the altar was a single gold statue of a feminine being with features that were so vibrant one doubted the inanimateness of the object. The gold of her hair seemed to be highlighted with silver inlay and jade were her eyes, ivory her smile, flowing gossamer argent her swathed garments. Goddess of hermaphroditic androgyny, Jenova.

The two knelt upon emerald cushions at the base of the dais and gazed upon the effigy. "Mother, we have brought you an offering, the blood of a liar and thief. Please bless us, your sons, so that we may conquer our enemies and rule in your stead," Sephiroth appealed to the goddess. He stood, making the simple act seem graceful even from an ungraceful angle, and tipped the goblet to his lips, his throat bobbing as he drained half the thick red contents. He then tilted the cup towards the image's mouth and the rest disappeared down the golden goddess' maw. The candles brightened for a moment, glinting off her tinny surface, and she seemed to smile beatifically, a sight that was tarnished by the blood covering her sinful lips.

**...**

"The villages at our southern borders – the parishes claiming to still be loyal to King Reeve – they have rebelled again and refuse to pay the taxes, my lord," informed another silver-haired, feline-eyed sibling. He was a little leaner, his features more pointed, his overall appearance more womanly than Sephiroth's, but no less desirable.

"Deploy a troop of soldiers to the borders then, Yazoo," Sephiroth said dismissively to his younger brother and turned back to the maps he was looking over.

"I shall, my lord. But, may I suggest…" he added hesitantly, his voice soft and compelling as always. Where Sephiroth was shrewd, Yazoo was sly. Sephiroth turned an eye warningly, a silky strand of pointed argent falling against his high porcelain cheekbones, his coral lips set in a line. Yazoo favored his hip, determined and unperturbed, leaning against the elaborately carved mahogany desk that was covered in maps and letters.

"I'm listening, Yazoo. Please continue," Sephiroth said in a sweet voice dripping with false assurance and spite. Dare this impudent youth question his judgment and authority? Something dark moved behind the king's eyes and shadows seemed to grow in the room, but Yazoo was not tempted to take back his words.

"Well, brother, I was thinking one could catch more flies with honey than with vinegar. A fearful subject is not necessarily a loyal subject. Show them that we may be foreign, but we are not barbarians – for that is surely what they're thinking."

"Then let them see that I can be civilized."

"I submit we throw a fete and invite the rebel leaders. _Persuade_ them to see things your way. And at the same time it would also take care of the issue with the nobles and gentry. We have not addressed them since you killed King Heidegger a month ago and I'm sure it would be an excellent time to secure loyalty among them. Heidegger was a despot and I'm sure we wouldn't want to be associated in the same category. Promise them protection and privileges in return for loyalty and low taxes."

"Hmmm. There's a good reason I appointed you High Counsel," Sephiroth leered, his usual synthetic flash of teeth that always held something dark behind it, ruining its potential brilliance. "I think that would be most appropriate. I'll leave you to make the arrangements. The rebels should be invited to stay for a tenday and the gala for the gentry will be held for only _one_ night. My allies should be invited too, to give the rebels a show of our strength." he said.

"Thank you, my lord. You won't be disappointed." Yazoo bowed low, showing no expression yet inside he was pleased that his brother had considered his words.

"And another thing," added the king. "See that the blind fortuneteller in the peasant markets is brought before me. I wish to speak with her," the king turned back to his maps to indicate the discussion was obviously over.

"I will see to it personally, brother," the sly warrior slunk noiselessly out of the study.

**...**

The streets of the market were packed, but no one would be able to recognize Yazoo donned in his cloak as he passed by the various stands selling foodstuffs, fabrics, and all manner of livestock. He could hear folk music in the distance over the noise of chatter and squealing pigs the farther down the street he went. After a few minutes walking and one escape from an overzealous trader, he finally happened upon a quiet square that he had passed through only a few days ago with an entourage and Hojo, the false oracle. He knew that in the middle of the square was a large water fountain surrounded by shady trees and at the fountain's foot would sit a lithe blindfolded girl in tattered rags holding a basin of water, a staff and a basket of flowers by her side. This was no ordinary girl, Yazoo knew that, for only a few days ago they had passed her, her blind eyes glowed like a sun, she spoke in many voices, and the water in her basin had shown pictures of Hojo purposefully misreading the runes and lying to the king in order to further his payroll. She had spoke in verse: "_The truth you have not told, to secure the king's gold." _And then she'd gone limp, her father running to her aid. With Hojo sputtering indignantly, Yazoo had run straight to his brother with the information, of course, and a full investigation had been launched into Hojo's thievery and lies, and what a trail he'd had – even a journal to confirm all his misdeeds! It was no wonder Sephiroth was interested in the girl.

Yazoo approached slowly, seeing that he and the girl were the only two in the square, when he was a little startled to hear a sweet voice call his name. The voice was innocent, young, like the pure tinkling of chimes and he suddenly felt home. Not the home in a physical sense that one steps through a threshold and warms their feet by the hearth, but the intangible sense of home that is pure safety and acceptance, a home that has looked inside your soul, seen every flaw, and has still welcomed you unquestioningly into its bosom. He was broken from his reverie when she called him a second time, "Yazoo. Are you going to stand there all day, or will you come sit with me?"

He walked over, perturbed a little that she had known his name. "How did you know I was there, I made not a sound," he asked, seeing upon closer inspection that she was very pretty, her hair braided back in a thong of leather and a faded pink scarf covering her unseeing eyes, her hands pale and fragile looking as she held the shoddy metal basin.

"How does any Seer know?" she asked in turn, a playful smile on her lips.

"Then I suppose that you know why I'm here."

"What kind of Seer would I be if I didn't?" Good point.

"Well, then, you will come back to the palace with me, freely?" He could sense through her noncommittal replies that she might be toying with him, but his specialty was diplomacy and two could play at that game, but he still felt uneasy – especially when surrounded by dark windows in which any number of marksmen may hide.

A soft chill ruffled stray hairs near her face and she tilted her head to the sky, reveling in the sun on this winter's day. "It will snow soon," she said and Yazoo found himself become a little peeved. He took a deep breath, held it, and let it out slowly. She turned to face him, "You will sit with me today, Yazoo. You will sit and you will watch. And then, when the sun reaches high noon, we will go to the palace and you will tell your brother what you have seen." Her words left no room for argument. She spoke as if he had already agreed. Maybe he had. It seemed like such a petty thing to fight over since she had, in fact, agreed to go to the palace. A few wasted hours never hurt anyone.

So he sat with her and he waited with her. In silence. And it wasn't too long until someone walked down the path from the market and approached the sitting figures. "Seer, please, you must tell me! Will Tifa accept my proposal?" the dark man knelt at her feet, desperation on his face and hysteria in his voice.

"Now Barret, you know it doesn't work that way. Here, sit, hold the basin." He did as he was told, situating himself for comfort while she pulled some flowers and a grinding stone in front of her. She peeled off the leaves and stamens from the flowers and began working them with the mortar and pestal. "Look into the basin. You're not looking, I said _look_. Yes, now...relax. Breathe deeply." _Grind_, _grind_, went the pestal and the flowers' essence was reduced to so much mush. "Again. Breathe. Tell me, what do you see?"

His face was scrunched up, his mustache twitching, but he was trying, ignoring Yazoo completely. "I see...the bottom of the basin." Yazoo agreed and thought the whole thing was poppycock. The seer just kept grinding, "Oh really? Look again." Yazoo and the dark man both peered intently into the basin and watched as the water began to move of its own volition. At first it took blunt shapes, then gradually turned to beings with features.

"That's Tifa, the day we met!"

"Isn't she just as lovely as that day?" asked the girl, grinding, releasing the sweet perfume of the flowers. The man nodded, the emotion coming into his eyes, a sight that made Yazoo uncomfortable. The watery shapes transformed into a couple holding hands, taking a stroll.

"We talked for hours that night. Just talked. About everything and nothing," he spoke softly.

"That was the night you knew you would spend the rest of your life with her," answered the seer, scooping the mush and packing it into the center of a flower, wrapping its petals closed. The man nodded, absorbed into the memory. Presumably, the face of Tifa appeared, smiling as she kissed the water-version of Barret.

The girl took the basin from the man's limp hands and handed him the wrapped blossom. "I think you have your answer, Barret. Take this flower, the fragrance will relax you. You will have courage Barret." The man smiled, seemingly comforted as he put the flower in his pocket and walked off.

Yazoo was confused. Why hadn't her eyes glowed or her voice multiplied? "What was with all those ambiguous answers? And the significance of the flower? Why didn't you just simply tell him yes or no?"

"I am a guide. I do not always need to use the Inner Eye to see the future. She will say yes-"

"Then why didn't you just tell him so?"

"She _will_ say yes, because he will be confident, not because I say she will. I reminded him of the truth, I channeled his memories of their love through the basin, not through myself. The flower," she twirled the yellow blossom through her fingers, "will help him to relax. Its perfume does that. But people also like physical things to believe in, so since he believes in it, it will give him courage."

"You're no better than Hojo. You gave him a lie."

"I gave him belief. I believe people make their own destiny...if they _believe_. It will mean more to him to be surprised, to hear _her_ say she loves him instead of _me_ _telling _him she does. Why would I take that joy away from him?" Yazoo could see the wisdom in her logic, but could not understand the difference between her reading now, and her seizure of power a few days ago, and he said as much. "I cannot control when the Lifestream grips me, but I can help others believe in themselves." _Aw, the Lifestream, the pagan religion that teaches that your soul returns to the planet when you die_, thought Yazoo. Yes, he knew of the Lifestream, but if she couldn't see the error in putting her faith in that rubbish instead of his goddess-mother, Jenova, then she truly was lost. But she _did_ have a gift, he'd seen it before, and he knew he would see it again. He didn't have to be a Seer to know that.

A few more people came to the girl, asking for answers and receiving the same treatment, each leaving with a contentment that Yazoo could not understand. She never asked for payment either, which he thought was odd and when he asked her about it she replied with a smile, "Why would I charge for something I was born to do?" High noon came soon enough and she emptied the basin into the fountain and gathered her things. She hung the basin on a knob on her staff, thread the basket of flowers over her arm and walked down the street with Yazoo in tow as if she could see. The staff was apparently not used as a 'seeing stick' since she seemed to know where she was going, but simply a stylish walking cane. Never once did Yazoo have to steer her in the correct direction or warn her of any obstacles.

They arrived at the palace soon enough and made their way into the throne room where King Sephiroth was already waiting. Yazoo knelt and then approached his brother, whispering, "I have my doubts as I did not see the same display the day with Hojo, but she has a wisdom about her." Sephiroth nodded and Yazoo faded into shadow by his brother.

"Tell me, Seer, what is your name?" asked Sephiroth, his skeptic voice deep and rumbling.

But the girl wasn't responding, her head lolling from side to side, the basin in her hands, the staff fallen to the side and flowers streaming the floor. There seemed to be a supernatural air swirling around her, her ragged clothes and braids moving with its currents. Suddenly there was water in the basin and it floated of its own accord, pictures surfacing too fast to comprehend. Her pink scarf fell to the ground and when her eyes opened, they were filled with a white-hot glow. When she spoke, her voice was that of the past, present, and future, holding many lives and tones:

"After darkness on a silver night,

Under the stars on a full moon's light,

Shall you meet your heart's desire

By the light of candle fire.

Created by your mother above,

A mate to care, to hold, to love.

One that is true, who won't tell lies.

One that dreams of your eyes.

One with hidden mako-powers

To aid you in most needed hours.

One of virtue sans faux dressings

Double-sexed with Jenova's blessings.

A virgin with bright blue eyes,

Milky skin and untouched thighs.

One of yellow sunshine grace,

From a distant snow-white place."

The basin flashed odd angles of pale skin and hair, blue eyes and snake eyes, and bodies entwined. The water stilled, and the girl shuddered and collapsed. Nothing but stunned silence and darkness once more. Sephiroth motioned for servants to aid the girl as he said to Yazoo, "She is a Cetran Seer." Yazoo's eyebrows furrowed in ignorance. "The Cetra died out ages ago. She must be the last. They were sought out for their ability to commune with spirits, whom they called the Lifestream." Sephiroth had a small grin, like he was calculating something.

"I thought the Lifestream was all-"

"I can assure you, it is real. This girl speaks the words of the Prophesy, told to me by Jenova in the ancient tongue, centuries ago. _This girl is real_." He seemed to deliberate a moment, thumb and forefinger on his chin. "Give her Hojo's old rooms. Pay her whatever she asks."

**...**

_Ugh_, I sighed in my head. The traders rotated in shifts and today it was Jondab's turn to be "tour guide" if the gruff brogue echoing down the halls was anything to go by. While he wasn't terrible, he was certainly shrewd and favored predominantly vulgar language. I could hear his voice accompanied by another's as they made their way into the showroom. The man beside Jondab was obviously a high class foreigner, and if he was in _this_ room that meant he had unusual taste. It made my stomach grow cold as he started perusing my fellow prisoners. A _rich_ wild card was sometimes a little more frightening – I'd heard they would sometimes come to buy slaves cheaply since they were more...disposable.

The pampered slaves and courtesans of the Six Houses were trained, educated, and given a vocation to study…they had special skills and professions; some were teachers, healers, theologians, scientists, artists, even oracles, in addition to their status as a pleasure or plodder slave. In fact, I'd heard that they were so valued even foreign dignitaries and royalty frequented the Six Houses, seeking comfort, service, divination, and even tutors for their children (for ridiculously high prices).

Our slave-house was just a little no-name nothing, far out in the boonies…we had a nice system going, at least we were clean and organized, but we couldn't even begin to compare to the Six Houses. So…what in the hell was this man, obviously a snobbish, wealthy nobleman of some sort, doing _here_, in the middle of nowhere, in this sleepy little town? I wondered this rhetorically. We barely even qualified to be on a map if it hadn't been for Nibelheim's natural Mako springs. Ah, mayhap he was a Mako-merchant, they were usually well-off…especially because it was dangerous work harvesting the stuff, but that's another story for another time. What I was currently more interested in was not his occupation, but rather his destination. They peeked into a few of my fellow slaves' cells until the rich foreigner pointed to me an asked, "What about this one?"

"Ah yes, that one, he always says 'thank you' when the attendants bring him food, or so I'm told. Well, ye see sir, this one's been here nigh on two months now." Jondab pointed to me as they approached my cell and I tried to disappear into myself. "Not through any fault of 'is own, see…but me clientele, they're farmers, simple men, they wouldna know what to do with somethin' like 'im. So I figure he's too special for this humble slave-house…not many people in Nibel have the taste for his ilk, see, and I'd been thinkin' of selling 'im to one of the Six, maybe the House of Costa Del Sol…they'd train 'im up all proper and fetch a pretty coin for 'im I'd wager. Ye're lucky ye came when ye did, if ye're int'rested in 'im, o' course. I'm lookin' to get rid o' 'im for about...two hundred gold pieces."

Ha! Jondab was such a liar, he had told the other patrons _one_ hundred. Hopefully the price would be steep enough to deter this wild card, but I doubted it. The patron gazed at me with generic brown eyes and an interested stare and right then I knew he'd pay for me. He must have been from the East for he wore his blond hair short and slicked back, as those in Junon were wont to do. He had high cheekbones and pale skin and far too many adornments on his clothing for my taste. He pretended to consider for a bit until he spoke next, in a deep voice that was used to being obeyed. "Well, I can't make a decision without getting a proper look at him."

"'O course, sir." Jondab grabbed the keys from his waist and wasted no time in dragging me out of the cell. It'd been some time since I'd been out and I was almost afraid of all the space. The foreigner circled me closely, towering over me, turning my face this way and that, and peering into my too blue eyes, a color I knew was unusual for the region. "Open yer mouth, son, show 'im ye got all yer teeth." I did as instructed.

"Yes, I think he'll do nicely for my lord."

"That's right fine of ye to give this 'un away as a gift, sir."

"Right. Where do you do your transactions? I'd like to purchase him."

"Right this way, sir." Jondab snapped his fingers and a guard from the doorway sprung into action. A burly man with a dumb look grabbed me by the arm and guided me down a separate hall. He brought me to a cabinet that held irons and chains. He fitted me with a plain silver collar reserved for the pleasurers and clapped me with a pair of matching wrist cuffs. He pulled a brown cloak from the adjacent closet and guided me to what I assumed was the transaction room.

The foreigner was leaning over a large wooden desk, the only piece of furniture in the small room, signing a receipt while the scribes were tallying other customers' money.

"Here's your gold, two hundred and then some," the foreigner pulled out a drawstring purse from under his robes.

"Much obliged, sir. Ah, yer slave is all ready. Here's a copy of his profile and your receipt. Would ye be needin' any other services?"

"No, thank you, master Jondab. That will be quite all. Good day to you." Servants scurried to fetch the man's cloak and before I knew it we were out the door. It was bitingly cold in the night, but luckily he had a coach hitched with gold chocobo waiting outside. The blond foreigner put his hand on my lower back and pushed me into the carriage out of the freezing wind. We were off, bouncing slightly and I was fidgeting with my hands, trying to stay quiet. It felt so nice to have a cushioned seat under me again. The interior was plush velvet, the windows were curtained, and there were satin pillows and a thick blanket which to my surprise was draped over my lap. "Your meager little cloak can't be too warm," he'd said, his high-born Eastern accent thick to my ears. "How could one of your golden looks come from such a wintry land?" the question seemed to be rhetorical, like he was wondering out loud, so I didn't say anything. "You do have a name, do you not?"

"My name is Kuraudo, but you can call me Cloud. That's what it means in Nibel anyways." Hmmm, that was practically chatty for me. I guess two months of minimal human interaction will do that to a person.

"Well..._Cloud_, my name is Lord Rufus Shinra of Junon. While you are in my care, if you heed my orders, then I can guarantee your safety and virtue. Do you promise to behave?" He was curt and direct, but I could appreciate that.

"Yes, my lord. I'm no hero. You won't have to worry about any escape attempts from me." Because after two months in a flea-infested hellhole like that slave house, where the slavers remind you everyday of your worst fears, the fight abandons you and you're left weak and accepting.

"That's what I like to hear, boy. Now, we'll be at the Gold Saucer by daybreak and get you fed and washed. You smell of straw." Well, I couldn't argue with that.

Much of the ride went on in silence, but it was comfortable in the cozy warmth, gently swaying as the chocobos brought us closer and closer to our destination. I drifted in and out as the cotton-white scenery of winter passed us by. Every once in a while I'd see a hare or fox peeking over a snowbank at us and I was reminded of my little field mouse. I hoped she'd fare alright. It was a silly thought.

I'd been plucking up my courage to speak for the last few minutes because something had been nagging at me since we'd left. I'd been going over in my head how I should bring up the subject politely and I'd been getting more and more nervous the longer we sat in silence. Finally, I'd psyched myself up enough, but then my throat had gone dry and I had to clear it rather loudly. "Um, my lord...may I speak freely?"

He raised his eyebrow, curiously surprised, but nodded his assent. "Well...I had overheard that you were...purchasing me for...someone else?" I made the statement a question. He could fill in the blanks.

His eyes narrowed a bit as he considered me down his patrician nose. "You want to know who will be your master, is that it?"

I nodded, "Yes, my lord...if...if it's not too much to ask." Gods, I sounded like a whimpering puppy, but if meek talk helped me survive in this world... I must have looked the part too, skin and bones and too-big eyes huddled in an oversized cloak and blanket.

He chuckled softly to himself, smiling brilliant white teeth behind thin coral lips, shaking his head. "You'll make a fine servant, Cloud. I am a friend of his Majesty in Midgar. I was just coming from a visit from Wutai when I received his invitation to the celebration of his victory over the Grasslands. I thought to myself, what better way to honor the Reptilian King than to add a pretty little hermaphrodite to his collection. And what fortune! I found you in that awful hovel. Poor little waif. Once we get more food into you and some proper clothes, you'll be a fair sight for his Majesty." said Lord Shinra, with obvious respect for his king.

"Pardon, my lord, I don't mean to sound ignorant, but I have never heard of the...Reptilian King?" The nobleman looked positively stunned, almost offended that I hadn't heard of his great ruler, so I hurried to correct myself. "See, I was living in the woods with my aunt when I was taken, so we never got any news." Yes, I was a boy from a backwater village and I'd use that to my advantage. It seemed to 'unfluster' him at any rate.

He scoffed a little in his highfalutin way, "You've heard of the Hundred Year War, I presume? Even a little village like Nibeheim must have heard of that," I nodded. "He was _The_ General that led the soldiers to victory."

"But that was almost three hundred years ago!" I balked. Surely this guy was mad.

"I _know_...that;s why it's so amazing. He is...immortal I suppose. Strong, victorious, ruthless," Sounded like a tyrant to me, but I'd keep my opinions to myself. "Very handsome too. I have no taste for men, but I can appreciate beauty when I see it."

"Why is he called the Reptilian King?"

Lord Shinra's eyes met mine, seriously, weighing me. "You will see for yourself when I present you to him." His words filled me with cold dread and hung ominously in the air.

**To be continued...**


	3. Short Note From The Author

Thank you readers for your encouragement and your messages telling me to update! I know it's been...what, years? Yeah, so now I am a Mom and I still go to school...so you can guess how much time I have now. Plus I have a sluggish muse - she's a mean bitch...

Also, struggling with depression - which is probably a major part of why I haven't finished most of my stories. Have any suggestions or success stories on how you have overcome depression or writer's block? Email me please!

Have no fear though, I will not abandon my stories, I want them finished as much as you do.

Working on a very short sci-fi fantasy story hoping it will kick in my creative juices once more - though God knows when even _that _will get done; even now I hear calls of, "Mommy, she hit me!" *Rolls eyes.* If/when I finish that I will post it on FictionPress. Hopefully it will lead to completing the stories I have going already, keep your fingers crossed!

Love!

S.W.


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